


You Don't Need These

by defendt0pbunk



Series: We're Gonna Get You Help [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, M/M, Self Harm, Tattooed Castiel, Tattooed Dean, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 21:52:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1663733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defendt0pbunk/pseuds/defendt0pbunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel persuades Dean to give up his blades. Dean is having trouble doing so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Don't Need These

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying to get this entire series finished as soon as possible! Enjoy the second part! (:

Dean hesitated for a second. "No." He said shaking his head.

"I'm not asking you. I'm telling you." Castiel gave him a disappointing look. Dean just stood there in front of him with his arms crossed and his head down.

Dean's eyes were glistening with tears now. "I don't want to."

Castiel patted the empty seat next to him, "sit down, Dean." His tone was a little softer now.

He hesitated once more. Then sat next to Castiel, gripping the bottoms of his sleeves tighter, afraid he would grab his arm and look for himself.

"Well can you tell me why you're doing it, atleast?" He asked. Dean didn't answer the first time. "Is it Lisa?"

Dean sighed, he was sobbing now. He looked at Castiel no even bothering to dry his eyes. He nodded, "Yeah, it's Lisa." He said weakly, sniffling and wiping his nose on his sleeve.

Castiel started for his sleeve then drew his hand back. "Can I-" He gestured to his sleeve. More tears ran down Dean's face. 

"Cas, I don't want you to see.."

"I'm more upset than mad, Dean. I'm not gonna yell at you. I just want to see."

"I have to take my shirt off." He admitted.

"That's fine." Castiel said as Dean stood up. Dean took his shirt off and it wasn't until his chest was bare that Castiel gasped. 

Dean dropped his shirt on the floor and felt the cold air of the apartment hit his bare chest. Castiel frowned when he saw all of Dean's fresh cuts. "Dean, what have you done?" He asked, his voice shaky. No answer. He looked up at Dean again before standing. He barely ran his fingers over the cuts and scars on Dean bicep. "How old are these, Dean?" He asked him. His cleared his throat because he heard a tremble in there somewhere.

Dean shrugged, "Eh I don't really know. Before I went to work this morning.." He wouldn't meet Castiel's eyes this time. There was still a little bit of dried blood of his chest.

"So at least a few hours old, because there's still blood there." He ran his finger along Dean's chest, across some of the dried blood. "Do you tend to them properly?" He asked, sounding concerned.

He shook his head, "No." He pointed to the long, raised scar on his right arm above his tattoo. "I did with this one, because it was deep and wouldn't stop bleeding. Wrapped it with gauze and tended to it until it healed." 

"You went to the hospital for that?" 

"No, I hate hospitals. I have a first aid kit."

"And the rags in your bathroom, buried at the bottom of your dirty clothes hamper?" He raised and eyebrow at him. "I assume none of them were used to soak up spilled Gatorade?" 

"No, it's all blood." Dean answered, sounding ashamed.

Castiel nodded, "Why do you this to yourself, Dean? There are other healthier ways to cope with losing someone." He explained.

Dean hung his head and dug his foot into the plush cream colored carpet, "It makes me feel better." He muttered.

Castiel scrubbed his face with his hand. "How does it make you feel better?" He looked up at Dean. "Sorry, you can up your shirt back on, I know you feel uncomfortable." He patted the couch cushion, "Sit and explain this to me please, i'm having a hard time understanding." He said.

"I don't know why it makes me feel better, just does, I guess." He let out a shaky breath, like Castiel was going to draw his fist back and beat the shit out of him for doing something as stupid as cutting himself. He waited for it, but it never happened. He just sat there and listened. 

"I almost feel like i'm to blame for you doing this to yourself. You know that right?" He asked.

"Why? You didn't cut me, I did it myself. I'm just upset over Lisa passing is all. She died before I even met you, dude. Not your fault."

"Yeah, well I should have noticed. I mean," He scoffed. "No one wears long sleeves in 80 degree weather, Dean. They'll have a fucking heat stroke, you wouldn't let me see you tattoos, you were jumpy and on edge.. The list goes on." He said turning on the couch so he was face to face with Dean. 

"So why are you not mad about all this? I should've stormed out the door minutes ago." 

"I'm not mad 'cause, and correct me if i'm wrong, 'cause i'm the only thing you have holding you together right now and losing Lisa.. You just need someone, man and if we have beef with each other then you'd probably be lookin' worse, covered in more cuts and we don't need that right now."

Castiel peered up and saw Dean was crying. He had never seen Dean cry before this conversation. Dean was probably crying because he knew deep down that Castiel was right. 

Dean didn't have anyone besides Cas. He doesn't have any friends, he had co workers but none of them shared personal things like this. The conversation that's happening right now with all the crying and all the feelings, Dean would never have a conversation like this with a co worker.

Dean dried his eyes and looked at Castiel for direction. "Now what?" He asked. 

"I'll tell you what, you get cleaned up and i'll clean all those cuts for you." He smiled.

"C-can I-" Dean started to say.

"Can you what? Have this back?" He asked picking up the tin and shaking it a little, making the blades rattle inside.

Dean nodded.

"Oh no! You're not getting this back. This is mine. Why would I give these back? You might hurt yourself again." 

"I need them, Cas." He begged, on the verge of tears again.

"You don't need these, Dean. You don't need a small piece of metal running your life. You need help. That's what i'm doing." Castiel replied in a soft tone.

"Cas," Dean sobbed. "You don't understand, I need them back. What if it happens again? What am I supposed to do?" He asked with an attitude.

Castiel rubbed his back in small circles trying to calm him down, "Hey, calm down." He lifted his chin with his index finger. "I'll tell you what you're going to do if it should happen again.." He smiled, "You're gonna come to me and we'll get through this together."

Dean gave him a terrified look. The thought of Castiel helping him through this...weird and awkward. Castiel might've not been Dean's family but he was the only thing he had, like Castiel said earlier and Dean didn't want to disappoint him. Or worse, Castiel could've been a totally unsupportive dick about this whole fucked up situation. Besides he could buy more blades, they were what? Like three dollars at the hardware store? "Okay." Dean caved. "You can have them." Then he suddenly remembered the orange box knife at the bottom of his desk drawer, and he sighed in relief and relaxed a little.

Castiel picked up the small tin and went to him room. "You're on watch now," He told Dean. "I'm checking you for cuts or burns. Whatever it maybe. Everywhere. No long sleeves in this weather. Your doors are to stay open for the time being. No gauze or band-aids. You come to me if you feel like shit." Dean looked like he was pouting. "I'm serious, Dean." He threatened. "You said you don't like hospitals, I won't make you go. This is me trusting you to not hurt yourself, because the first cut, be it, big, small, gash, chicken scratches. I will institutionalize your ass. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." Suddenly Dean felt like he was 15 yeas old, getting yelled at by his dad again. 

Was he supposed to be mad that he couldn't shut his doors? Why the hell is he not mad about that? Having the doors open when you get out of the shower? When he's getting dressed? Surely it was okay to close them during those times, unless Castiel was trying to be a fucking perv. Nah! He's just doing right and helping Dean with- wait! Wait just a goddamn minute! Does the watch start now? Oh for fucks sake.

"Cas?" Dean hollered from the living room. "Am I in a time out?" He asked.

"Do you wanna be?" He asked, his voice getting closer as he walked back in the living room with Dean.

"That sounded vaguely dirty." Dean joked with a chuckle. "Does the watch start in the morning?" He said trying not to sound hopeful.

Cas smiled and showed some teeth, "It started when you said 'yes, sir'"

"One more thing?" Dean asked. Castiel looked at him."Could you please not have me say 'yes,sir' anymore?"

"Not unless you're into that kinda thing." Castiel replied with a half smirk and a wink. 

Dean felt the blood drain from his face and his eyes widened. "I'm not gay, Cas." He said rolling his eyes so hard, they felt like they were in the back of his skull.

"I never said you were gay. I said 'if you're into that kinda thing'. That's not implying that you're gay."

Dean furrowed his brow in confusion. "Has anyone ever approached you on the street and asked if you were gay?" Castiel shook his head. "I thought gays were supposed to be flamboyant? If you wouldn't have told me when you moved in, I would've thought you were straight, to be honest."

"Not all gay guys are flamboyant and throw glitter at people, asshole." Castiel said with a laugh.

Dean rose from the couch and walked across the floor to his bedroom and shut the door behind him. Something hit it on the other side. "Door!" Castiel yelled. 

It opened quickly. "I'm going to the damn bathroom,Cas. Would you like to hold my dick while I piss?" He chuckled going back into his room

"I don't care, bedroom door open, bathroom door closed." He said from the couch.

"Whatever." Dean scoffed walking back to the bathroom. He leaned against the sink and sighed looking in the mirror. "He is fucking serious...he's serious. He's acting like i'm on my fucking death bed, it's not that bad. It's just a few little cuts. It shouldn't matter to him."

He stayed in the bathroom for a few minutes and when he came out Castiel noticed that his eyes were red and irritated. "Were you crying in there?" He asked politely trying not to poke fun at him.

Dean wiped his wet eyes and sighed, letting out a shaky breath, "No, I was using the bathroom." He said plopping down on the couch. 

Castiel put an arm around Dean's shoulder. "It's okay, Dean. You don't have to lie to me. You were crying, I understand."

"I can't do it, Cas. I can't." Dean said laying on the floor, looking up at the ceiling. Tears were rolling down the side of his head and making the inside of his ears wet.

"This isn't about the blades is it?" Castiel asked.

He sat up and threw his hands in the air. He was sobbing harder now. "Yes, Cas! It's ab-about the blades!"

"Dean," Castiel said calmy, running a hand through his hair and letting out a heavy sigh. "We just talked about this."

Dean wiped his eyes on his shirt, which was pointless because the tears kept coming as he was wiping them away. "I know that but I need them back."

Castiel smiled down at him and chuckled, "Why?" He asked, sounding a little amused.

"Because I fucking do. Just- can I have them back, please?" Dean begged.

"I told you, you're not getting them back. Drop it. You can cry and beg all you want, i'm not going to change my mind, there are other ways for you to calm down when shit hits the fan. You hurt yourself when you're upset or angry about small problems." He chuckled, "Like the other day, when that guy said he was never getting a tattoo from you again, you ran straight to your bedroom and probably cut yourself, am I right?"

Dean nodded, "Yeah but-"

Castiel cut him off, "And what did you tell me when we were eating dinner?" He asked. 

Dean propped himself up on his elbow and looked at Castiel. "I said that I had tons of other people that wanted tattoos from me, and that one guy didn't matter."

"That's right, but you said that after the fact, after you had already hurt yourself, right?" He asked, his voice softer.

"Yeah..." Dean muttered,

Castiel lean forward still looking down at Dean on the floor. "Do you regret any of those cuts you made?" Dean shook his head. "Well, I think you regret them alot. About an hour after, when you're laying in bed and realize that the problem you had was totally fixable."

He slid off the couch and down to the floor right beside where Dean was laying. He pulled Dean's shirt sleeve up and pointed to the scar above his tattoo. "This is the Lisa scar, right?" He asked running his thumb lightly over it. Dean nodded. "I know that that problem is unfixable, but were you the drunk asshole driving the car that hit her?" 

Dean shook his head. "No, I'm not."

"And there's nothing you could've done, Dean. This scar," He ran his fingers over it gently and Dean shivered. "Is pointless." He continued. "And now it's there permanently."

Dean's eyes started to burn, he blinked to keep himself from crying. He rubbed them kinda hard. "Dammit, Cas! Are you trying to guilt trip me into not cutting?" He breathed.

"No, i'm trying to make you realize that what you're doing isn't healthy and that if you hate yourself so much that you take a piece of metal to your wrist on a daily basis, you need help." Castiel pointed out.

"Dammit!" Dean said, grinding his teeth together. He was crying, again. Then again he hasn't stopped since he walked in the door a few hours ago.

Dean fell against Castiel and laid his head on his shoulder. Castiel ran his fingers through his hair and rubbed his back. His sleeve was soaked with Dean's tears. He chuckled quietly, "Hey Dean,"

Dean sniffled and turned his head to glance up at Castiel. "What?" He answered in a quiet, raspy voice.

"Do you feel gay when another man holds you while you cry on his shoulder?" He joked with a smile.

Dean chuckled and buried his face back into Castiel's shirt. "Shut up!"


End file.
